


An Exchange of Prophecies

by AngelQueen



Series: The Padmé/Maul 'verse [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Attempted Sexual Assault, Drabble Sequence, F/M, He and Padmé could totally rule the galaxy, I'm Going to Hell, Leaving Maul in charge, Mating Bond, Mating Rituals, Sheev gets his ass handed to him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-06
Updated: 2015-07-06
Packaged: 2018-04-08 01:26:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4285407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelQueen/pseuds/AngelQueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It takes only a moment. One glimpse of her from her defiant message is all that is necessary for the air to crackle, for his blood to ignite.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Exchange of Prophecies

**Author's Note:**

> An AU told in drabbles.

It takes only a moment. One glimpse of her from her defiant message is all that is necessary for the air to crackle, for his blood to ignite.

 _Mate. His mate_. Something no Sith has had in a millennium.

 _The prophecy_ , is his second thought. Though his master has never overly educated him in their order’s history, he has not let himself remain in ignorant. He knows the prophecy, as old as Bane’s line and given by their founder himself - when a Sith again found his mate, their time would come again, and the Jedi would fall into darkness.

She has come.

* * *

He cannot hide this from his master.

_“You are certain?”_

“Yes, Master.”

Silence, then, _“This will complicate things. Move quickly, capture her. Once you have her in custody, you will bring her before me.”_

His eyes narrow. What is it his master wants with her? She is _his_.

His master senses his resistance. _“You know my rights in this, Maul. Bring her, or both of you will suffer for your disobedience.”_

The connection cuts, leaving him alone to seethe. He cannot disagree, because Sidious is correct. The master owns the apprentice and everything that is his, including his mate. He has first rights to her body.

* * *

He vents his rage on all who surround her. The Jedi he slaughters first, the biggest threat, then the primitive lifeform. That leaves the slave woman and her brat, who die in screaming agony.

She stands frozen, covered in the blood of her companions. Her skin is perfectly white with flecks of red. Already he wishes he could taste her. 

She shrinks from him, tries to scream, but it takes only a gesture to make her slump, unconscious. She lands on the slave woman’s corpse.

He picks her up with a gentleness he’s never shown and carries her out, leaving death behind.

* * *

No one on the streets witnesses their silent passing. He is not so foolish as to leave her unattended, so once the ship has been sealed, he lays her down on the bed in his cabin. She does not wake, even when he brushes his gloved fingers over the skin of her cheek.

The Force hums its affirmation. This is right. It had brought them together for this. To mate according to the old Sith doctrine, to restore them to their place, to end the measures Bane had enforced for their order’s survival.

She will be the mother of the new regime.

* * *

He slides into her mind, seeking paths that will forever link to his own. She is also there. He reaches for her - _mate mate mate_ \- but she shrinks from him, fearful.

Part of him is angry, frustrated, but he must remember patience. There will be time to secure her willingness. Now, he must bind them. His master has claimed her virginity, but he will have no avenue into her mind. That will remain his.

Before he withdraws, he stops to consider his mate. He mimics a nip to her neck, a gesture of greeting. She is shocked as he withdraws.

* * *

When she wakes, she will not let him near her. She merely jams herself into a corner.

He could command her obedience, probably should given what is coming, but he does not. He could dominate her, chain her to his bed, but he refrains. 

Instead, he sits and watches her, lets his eyes rove over her body. She still wears the same clothes from Tatooine, still has not cleaned the blood of the dead from her skin. It only makes him want her more.

He lets his desire bleed through the newly formed bond.

She begins shifting, uncomfortable and uncomprehending.

Soon, she will understand.

* * *

When they arrive at the capital, his master has a place set aside - a room, large enough for a bed. 

He no longer allows her the space she maintained on the ship, instead gripping her and dragging her with him. She is his mate - it is her duty to follow him. He thrusts her into the room and leaves her.

His master watches her on a screen. “She is young.”

Her youth is an advantage - she is fertile. 

His master has the same thought. He flips a switch; a gas slips through the air ducts - an aphrodisiac.

* * *

The aphrodisiac does its work. His master moves, he follows. He knows the ritual - he will learn from watching his master claim his mate. His anger and hate will make him stronger.

She is beside herself when they enter, her hands running over her body, under her leggings, seeking relief. She still recognizes her master, knows him for who he is.

She pushes herself against he headboard as his master removes his robe. It takes only a slight tug of the Force to bring her closer to him. She screams as she at last understands.

There is no one to hear her.

* * *

Her eyes are wild with fear and fury. She fights his master with teeth, nails, anything. He is strong, though, and her defeat is inevitable.

When his master begins pulling and tearing at her clothing, seeking her skin, she snarls and tries to twist away. When his master captures her wrists in his hand and traps them, her gaze turns to him. 

Their minds are bound together, and he can feel her desperation to prevent this violation. Where before she had kept her mind as separate as she could, now she embraces their bond, seizing any chance to avoid this fate.

* * *

An exchange in the space of a moment: 

_Help me!_ Her cry is sharp like a knife.

 _This is tradition._ His acceptance is lackluster at best.

 _No! I am not his!_ Her will is unbroken.

 _Whose are you then?_ He scents an opportunity, does not hesitate to take it.

 _I…_ Her hesitance enrages him.

 _Whose?!_ His insistence is unyielding.

 _Yours._ Her surrender is his victory.

 _Then take what you need._ He will give her all that she requires to save herself.

That he has used his master’s depredations to force her hand does not bother him at all. He has won her acceptance, and he will not forget.

* * *

Arrogant, his master senses nothing. He focuses on claiming ‘his rights’, intent on parting her thighs so that he can sink between them. He sees nothing until it is too late.

The Force surges from his mind to hers, their anger and rage like an accelerant on flame. In that moment, he sees her eyes cast yellow.

His master flies off the bed, thrown back toward him. His instincts are quick, and his master lands with his blade running through his back and out of his chest.

His master coughs, a mist of blood spraying over his lips and chin, and then slumps.

* * *

With the threat gone, she tries to disengage, to regain control. He does not give her the chance, seizing onto her very essence. As she protests, he throws open the pathways of her mind to the dark. He pours in his hatreds, his victories, his desires. 

Her screams fade to an echo as she drowns. 

He can feel the Force filling, changing, preparing her for what she is meant to be. His mate, his lover. 

In a moment, he casts his mate into the thick, cloying, unending darkness that will be their home for all time. He has won.

* * *

When at last the sharing ends, he is leaning against the wall. His master’s corpse lies at his feet, his lightsaber still in hand. 

His eyes go to the bed. She lies there, staring vacantly up at the ceiling, her chest rising and falling with the quickness of her breath. Her body is limp, boneless. Her tunics are mussed and torn, her leggings shoved messily to her boots. Her legs have fallen open, and he can see the glint of moisture hanging on the curls at the apex of her thighs.

Hunger explodes across his senses. He has waited long enough.

* * *

The first taste of her on his tongue is headier than any alcohol. He chases that flavor up and down her slit, sliding his tongue inside of her before going up to lave her swelled clit. 

Her moans are muffled by her thighs gripping his head, but cares more for the way her hands run over his tattooed scalp, lingering over his horns. He feels her nick her fingers on a particularly sharp one, and then they slide down to his busy mouth. The tang of her blood mixed with her juices is even more intoxicating.

She comes with a howl.

* * *

He moves up her body to meet her mouth with his. He kisses her roughly, his sharp teeth scratching the skin of her lips and mouth. She returns his passion with equal vigor, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing him close.

He moves his mouth down her neck, sucking and licking and biting her skin. Her tunics are still twisted around her body, blocking him from reaching more of her. He growls and lashes out with the Force, loosening the fibers that held the material together. It takes only one tug and the tunics are freed from her body.

* * *

She removes the hindrance of her boots and leggings, leaving her naked under his gaze. His trousers have long been uncomfortably tight. She senses his discomfort the moment it enters his consciousness and reaches for the stays of his trousers. Once loosened, she slides her hand inside and frees his cock.

Her thumb swishes over the head, gathering the drop of moisture onto the pad. She brings that thumb up to her mouth and licks, a daring, almost mocking, smile dancing across her lips.

He snarls and grips her hair in one hand while using the other to flip her body over.

* * *

He doesn’t need to spread her legs, she’s more than willing. Gripping his cock, he places it at her entrance. As he pushes in, he leans close and hisses in her ear, “You are mine. My mate. Mine.”

Sliding in, he feels a barrier. Knowing what it is, he lowers his head and bites the junction where her shoulder meets her neck just as he thrusts into her body.

She screams in pain, but he does not set a slow pace. There is no room for tenderness among the Sith, only power and strength. This is about claiming, marking what is his.

* * *

He invades her mind as he invades her body, not allowing her to retreat behind any shield to distance herself from the pain. Instead, he pours his feelings into her, lets her sense his pleasure of his cock thrusting in and out of her slick warmth. Conversely, he delves into her own sensations, feeling the pain of her ended innocence.

Pain does not bother him. Pain is part of the Sith.

While he binds them together in this sharing, he reaches around and slides his fingers between her legs, rubbing her clit. Pleasure spikes through pain, and she begins to enjoy both.

* * *

The physical and mental blend together. He feels what she does even as she feels what he does. 

Her muscles tighten around his cock as her mind wraps itself around his. He licks the blood from her shoulder as their bond strengthens through their mating. 

She moans as his rhythm increases, and she loses what control she has left. Her gasp when she comes all over his cock hits both his mind and his ears. He can feel her juices running down both their thighs. 

Her climax triggers his own and he roars as he empties his seed into her.

* * *

They lay on the bed together for some time, his body behind hers. They undoubtedly would make an unusual sight to anyone who might come upon them - her pale, naked form contrasting sharply with his rough, black tunics and trousers.

He does not let his cock slide from her body. He keeps it there, prevents his seed from escaping out of her body and instead forcing it to remain inside of her. Let it make its way further into her, he thinks. Let it take root in her womb.

The thought makes him growl, and he squeezes her naked breast, possessive.

* * *

In the end, they must move, must leave the bed that is covered in the evidence of their mating. His master’s corpse lies across the threshold. He steps over it. She steps on the dead man’s hand, and the bones crunch beneath her heel.

There is much to do. He is his own master now, the lord of the Sith. He has his mate, whose very existence heralds the Jedi’s downfall. One day, her belly will round with his child, a child whose future he will secure.

“The future will be ours,” he whispers, raising her chin.

Her eyes dance with yellow fire.


End file.
